


Almandine and Olivine

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [21]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cathay, F/M, M/M, Slavery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman looks for a new slave to spark her interest--preferably someone lively. And then, a slave goes missing just before he’s supposed to travel with his master.</p><p>Updated--Chapter 1 is now Chapter 2, and there's a new Chapter 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this original work, which was inspired by many different stories.  
>   
> Visual reference:  
> Venja--Vincent Perez  
> Olivine--Lee Williams  
> Almandine--Jonathan Rhys Meyers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman looks for a slave to spark her interest--preferably someone lively.

“No, no, all these are _boring_ ,” Xiao-Xing declared with disappointment, glancing over the roomful of quiet, dead-eyed slaves. She turned to the portly merchant with her hands on her hips and demanded, “Don’t you have anything more _interesting_?”

He smiled ingratiatingly, willing himself to have patience with the exasperating but wealthy client. “Perhaps if Madame could be more specific about what she desires…?”

Xiao-Xing pursed her lips in thought, trying to decide how best to describe it. “I want… someone lively,” she began slowly, “some fire and drama and _challenge_.”

“I _say_ , milady, here’s a nice one, don’t you think?” She glanced across the room to her escort, who was gingerly poking at a half-naked young man. The slave was attractive enough, Xiao-Xing allowed, but he didn’t even move when Qi touched him. Too passive for her tastes.

“He’s a bit… quiet, isn’t he, Qi?” she suggested tactfully.

“He looks very _tame_ ,” Qi responded pointedly, “as a slave should be.”

Xiao-Xing rolled her eyes. For the slaves who cleaned her home and cooked her food, tame was enough. But she needed a little more fire than that to keep her bed warm.

“If it is a challenge Madame seeks,” the merchant began delicately, “perhaps she would care to see some of our… less refined merchandise?”

Xiao-Xing’s eyes lit up at that phrase. “’Less refined’ sounds much better,” she agreed. “Come on, Qi!”

“But what about—“ her escort insisted, pointing back at the young man he had been admiring.

“I’ll buy him for you, if you want him,” Xiao-Xing laughed, slipping her arm through his when he reached her, “but _I_ might want something ‘less refined’!”

“If Madame would follow me,” the merchant murmured, leading them from the large room. Purposefully he strode down the pale marble hallway and unlocked a small, nondescript door with a key from his massive ring. The hallway they turned into was smaller and greyer, obviously not a place many clients ventured.

“Our less refined slaves are those on whom we have not yet worked our skill, whom we have not yet taught the proper subservient manner,” the merchant continued as they rounded a corner. “They are brand new to us, usually, those slaves who have come from less… _civilized_ purveyors.” Xiao-Xing wasn’t quite sure how _civilized_ their methods of ‘refining’ salves were.

“On occasion, though,” he added, “we do find slaves with particular _problems_. Disciplinary problems. We keep them around for those who enjoy the ‘fixer-upper’ aspect.”

“Milady, I don’t know about this,” Qi said hesitantly, and she rolled her eyes. He was always trying to make her slow down, do what had always been done, not take risks, and she sometimes tired of it.

“Qi, I wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” Xiao-Xing told him lightly. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

They paused as the merchant unlocked yet another door. “I know,” Qi started, “but I just—“

A high-pitched howl cut him off and the blood drained from his face as they stared into the stone hallway of metal cages before them. Uniformed guards were liberally sprinkled along the corridor, seemingly oblivious to the constant noise of the captives, who shouted, moaned, and rattled the bars of their cells. Xiao-Xing started forward eagerly, relishing her slight tingle of apprehension, only to feel Qi clamp down on her arm. “Milady!” he hissed, pale as a ghost.

“Stay there, then,” she told him shortly, prying herself loose to follow the merchant. As she expected, Qi quickly caught up with them, rather than stand alone in the hallway.

“Conditions here are not as pristine as in the rest of the store,” the merchant admitted as they strolled along. “Many of these slaves have a destructive nature.” He paused, then added, “If Madame sees any merchandise which interests her—“

From the darkness in the cell on the right a figure rushed at them, banging into the door at full speed and stretching his bony arms out at them, yowling at the top of his lungs. Qi squealed and jumped away, Xiao-Xing laughed, and the nearest guard sprang to shove the man backwards.

“He’s too old, I think,” Xiao-Xing decided.

The merchant swept his arm towards the cage on the left, where a woman crouched in the shadows. “This, I’m told, is a wild Amazon warrioress from the heart of Africa.” Xiao-Xing oohed and stepped closer for a better look, shaking off Qi’s restraining hand.

The merchant took a chunk of bread from one of the guards and waved it temptingly between the bars of the cell door. “Come and have a bite to eat, sweetheart,” he cooed in a soft tone, the same used to calm wild animals. Seeing the food, the woman awoke from her trance and glanced suspiciously at him. “Yes, that’s it, some food for you.”

Xiao-Xing remained absolutely motionless, fascinated, as the lean woman with skin as dark as coal dust slowly crept forward. The merchant kept pulling the food just out of her reach, drawing her closer, until suddenly he thrust his other hand between the bars and took firm hold of her hair, keeping her in place. Xiao-Xing didn’t think he could move that fast. The woman started screaming and struggling, clawing at his arm, but he shook her firmly and glanced back at Xiao-Xing.

“Well, she’s very beautiful,” Xiao-Xing told him, “but I guess I’m not in the mood for girls.”

The merchant shrugged and released the woman, who scrambled back into the farthest corner of the cell. He tossed the chunk of bread over to her, but by the time they moved on, she still hadn’t touched it.

The merchant pointed out an adorable wild boy who’d been living in the woods, but he was too young for Xiao-Xing’s taste; the defiantly silent warrior from the southern mountains was too passive; the belligerent eastern man wasn’t handsome enough. At every turn Qi kept whispering that they should just go back now, until Xiao-Xing finally shot him a glare and told him to be quiet. She was getting quite cross, dragging her Fu Long Hao platforms across the dank stones, and the smell was beginning to bother her. She was despairing of ever finding a suitable slave to play with, when the merchant suddenly paused in front of the last cell.

“If Madame is looking for a young man—not _too_ young—who is both wild and pretty, perhaps our newest arrival will be suitable,” he told her with a small smile.

Xiao-Xing squinted into the cell, but could see nothing but a formless mass in one corner. “What is it?” she asked dubiously.

“I was told by the seller that he is a Kegham, captured by the Manuan army on their travels,” the merchant revealed. “He’s been through several masters since then. I’m afraid he’s not exactly in prime condition, but he still appears fully functional.”

“A Kegham? Really?” Xiao-Xing had only heard legends about the Kegham tribe, supposedly a fierce group of warriors from a distant land. Usually people told tales about them to frighten small children, stories about cannibalism and ritual suicide and other gruesome deeds.

The merchant shrugged. “He _does_ have some odd tattoos. Would Madame care to see?”

Xiao-Xing nodded eagerly and the merchant signaled to one of the guards, who nodded and threw a nearby lever. A grinding sound emanated from the walls and floor, followed by scraping and a howling from inside the cell.

“Our mechanical restraining system,” the merchant explained with a touch of pride. “We use it in the new arrivals pens.” He pointed inside the cell, where the figure was slowly being dragged forward by chains attached to his wrists. The chain disappeared into a hole in the floor until he was stretched out full-length on his stomach, his ankles bound to the floor at the other end. Struggle though he might, he could only get a few inches of give on either side.

“My goodness!” Xiao-Xing exclaimed, more surprised than delighted. “That’s so… innovative.”

“The merchandise appears to be secure, if Madame would like to inspect it,” the merchant continued, still smiling, as he unlocked the door. Gingerly Xiao-Xing stepped across the threshold and wrinkled her nose as the smell increased. She tried not to examine the small chamber too closely in case she saw anything unpleasant and instead turned her attention towards the slave.

He was slender, almost too skinny, with shaggy blondish hair and pale but dirty skin. His only clothing was a filthy, ragged pair of trousers that was torn and stained. Across his back and down each arm was an intricate, serpentine tattoo. Xiao-Xing crouched down beside him and trailed her fingers along it gently, watching his muscles tense. He’d stopped howling at least, but every moment he was squirming, testing his bonds.

“ _Please_ don’t get too close to him, milady,” Qi begged. “He’s so _wild_ , he’ll—“

The captive heaved all his weight to one side, which happened to be the side Qi was standing on, and Xiao-Xing’s escort screamed and leaped backwards. Xiao-Xing was just a little bit embarrassed and tried to remember why she was friends with him.

“Stop that,” she said sharply to the slave, pinching a certain part of his neck expertly. He gasped suddenly, no doubt shocked and alarmed by the sensation of everything below the pinch point going numb. As soon as he stilled she released him, grimacing at the dirt left behind on her fingers. The merchant gallantly held out his sleeve to her for wiping, but Xiao-Xing declined, deciding she would probably be getting a bit dirtier before she was finished.

“Let’s see his face,” she suggested, unwilling to touch his unwashed hair.

The merchant had no such qualms—all slaves, even new ones, were thoroughly debugged at least once a week, he had assured her—and grabbed a fistful of hair to yank his head up. He was much younger than Xiao-Xing had expected, easily just a teenager, and his delicate, almost feminine features were indeed very pretty. His eyes were what grabbed her the most, though—they were blazing hot but dark, like a vat of molten chocolate, and they were burning with fury. They were absolutely breathtaking, and together with his high cheekbones and full lips, they made a face that Xiao-Xing could hardly resist.

As she tore her gaze away from his eyes and looked over the rest of his features, Xiao-Xing suddenly noticed a few glints that didn’t seem to fit in. “What are…?” she asked, mystified.

The merchant had been waiting for her to discover them. “I believe his last master had a penchant for piercings. Madame will note two in his nose, one in each eyebrow, six in each ear…” He grabbed the boy’s chin with his other hand and shook it roughly until the slave grasped his meaning and stuck out his tongue to reveal the stud in the middle of it. “Our policy is to remove piercings because they can lead to infections, but we had not yet done so with this slave.”

“Well, the ears are all right,” Xiao-Xing decided, and the tongue could be entertaining”—Qi coughed discreetly—“but I don’t care for the others.”

“Should Madame choose to purchase this piece of merchandise,” the seller reminded her, “the house would perform a complete grooming, to suit Madame’s tastes.”

Xiao-Xing nodded thoughtfully. “That would be nice. Should I decide to buy him. Does he have any others?”

The merchant nodded to the guard and together they flipped the slave over, much to his apparent discomfort. Xiao-Xing arched an eyebrow at the golden hoops in his nipples and navel—“a penchant for piercings” was putting it mildly. “No, I don’t like those, either,” she decided.

“There is one more, Madame,” the merchant added, roughly yanking down the boy’s trousers as he tried to squirm away. Xiao-Xing smirked a bit, then her eyes widened in shock when she saw the small piece of metal inserted through his—

“I feel faint,” Qi complained, looking away.

Xiao-Xing ignored him. “Is that—doesn’t it—is that _safe_?” she finally asked.

“We have performed the procedure here on occasion, Madame,” the merchant replied calmly, “and if done properly there is no interference in function. It is said to be pleasurable for others as well,” he added delicately, and Xiao-Xing considered that.

“Didn’t it hurt an awful lot?”

“I should imagine so.”

Xiao-Xing straightened up for a moment, smoothing her short pink silk dress as she pondered. The boy who had been so bold in his eye contact earlier now refused to meet her gaze as his trousers were pulled back up. As soon as the merchant stood, the slave rolled over on his stomach again and buried his face in his arms.

Xiao-Xing walked around his prone form, weighing her options. She had come to the merchant today to treat herself to a new slave, and she had found one she liked the look of very much. And he ought to be quite a bargain, since he hadn’t yet been ‘refined.’ But would he really be lively enough for her?

“Loosen his chains a bit, and go for a walk,” she ordered after a moment of thought.

Both Qi and the merchant stared at her, but the merchant was able to form a coherent protest first. “Madame, I believe that idea to be extremely inadvisable,” he stressed. “This slave is unpredictable and could surprise—“

“I hope so,” Xiao-Xing interrupted. She nudged the boy’s ribs with her foot but he continued to ignore her.

“Milady!” Qi finally sputtered. “This has gone too far, you can’t just play your little games—“

“Go pick out that boy you liked so well,” Xiao-Xing suggested. “A gift for your birthday. I’m sure the guards will leap to my defense should I need them.”

The merchant felt as though he had to concede or lose her business, so he bowed with a tight smile. “At Madame’s request, the chains will be loosened. The door shall remain open, should Madame need assistance.”

“Very well. Go _on_ , Qi.”

“If Sir would care to follow me?” the merchant coaxed. Xiao-Xing almost felt sorry for poor Qi, being led off in a daze by the merchant. Someday he would understand that Xiao-Xing could indeed take care of herself. The merchant spoke firm orders to the guards, and the grinding sound began again as the chains loosened.

They were letting the chain back out, and _she_ was still in the room, _her_ , the prospective buyer. At least that’s what he thought she was, except that the merchant had just left with the nervous, rabbit-like fellow. And the doors were open. He had only been in this place a day or two, he thought, but this procedure seemed quite irregular. The inspection had been routine, except for her little numbing trick, but why would she want to be alone with him, especially when he could move about more freely?

He hated having questions like that, he hated waiting. Waiting was the worst part of it, that and the beginning, when he didn’t know what to expect yet. When he knew what to expect he could act on it, do or say things to get it over with faster, but if he didn’t know, the wrong action might only prolong the experience.

She was circling him now, looking him over as he pulled himself off the floor and knelt stiffly. This place was not the most comfortable he’d ever seen, but so far he hadn’t really been beaten or starved. He still sported the bruises his last master left him with, exacerbated by the journey to this distant place, but bruises were infinitely preferable to other parting gifts.

She was very exotic-looking, to him anyway, with almond-shaped eyes and a bright pink dress that ended above her knees—a scandalous length, at least according to the places he’d been before. Perhaps she was from a house of prostitution, looking him over for possible addition. A shudder ran through his body at the idea—he would rather serve one master, no matter how cruel, than be at the mercy of dozens of strangers every day.

She stepped over the chain stretched across the floor and he jerked it up, trying to trip her, but she avoided it easily. Then she started speaking to him, trying out various dialects, it seemed, until words began to form that he understood. “You are a slave and I am your new mistress,” she told him, pleased when his expression indicated comprehension.

“I’d rather die than be slave to you,” he sneered in return. Standard hostile banter.

“Well that’s funny,” she commented lightly, “because I bet you’ve had worse masters than me and you haven’t killed yourself yet.”

That stumped him for a moment—too logical—before he shot back, “Masters, but never a mistress. As if a _woman_ would ever be able to command a slave who wasn’t a drugged-up, dead-eyed piece of—“

She crouched down beside him and grabbed his jaw, stopping his tirade, but her ink-black eyes didn’t seem angry or even irritated. He tried lashing out with his chained hands, but she caught the slack easily and wrapped it around his neck before he could blink.

He gasped and clawed at the restraint as she whispered in his ear, “We’ve got a bit of a temper, haven’t we?” She let him go and stood, and he collapsed on the floor, yanking the chain away from his throat, panting. “That will make things much more fun.”

Her manner wasn’t really sinister or threatening, which threw him off. Most of his masters had either been the prowling, baiting type or those who used their superior strength bluntly but effectively. This woman seemed like neither.

“You’re very pretty,” she continued pleasantly, “although I don’t like all those piercings. I’m going to take some out.” She tilted his face up to her and eyed him critically. “You could use a bath, too, of course.” Then she giggled, which sent a jolt of horror through him—was she actually _crazy_? That would explain a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slave goes missing right before a trip with his master.
> 
> Updated: Chapter 1 is now Chapter 2; new material in Chapter 1

            Despite his worry-turned-frustration, his rushing, his soreness, and even the pounding rain that had soaked him to the skin, his fury was beginning to abate. The boy’s slender body, shivering in his unwelcoming arms for mile after mile, had made him feel more than a little foolish about his ill humor. Olivine was little more than a child, after all, and a child who had certainly been through more suffering and uncertainty than Venja would care to imagine. Was it any wonder, then, with so many changes suddenly taking place around the estate, so much planning and preparing, packing and moving, that the boy felt confused, even frightened, and hid himself away in one of his secret little places? Venja supposed that he really should not have been so surprised at the boy’s actions; but it was still d—n inconvenient, for everyone, when there was so much to do and the boy nowhere to be found.

            But he had him now, Venja reminded himself as he steered the horse into the yard of the inn, though Olivine might have wished by now he’d stayed hidden a while longer. He was as wet and cold as Venja by now, but also hungry and terrified—of both the horse and his master. Venja would put him in a hot bath right away, he decided; get him some food, and then explain to him how worried he had been when he went missing.

            A brave stableboy ventured out into the downpour to hold the horse as Venja swung off, landing soundly in the mud that filled the yard. Wonderful, he thought, as if he didn’t have enough irritations already. He glanced up to see the boy still perched precariously on the saddle. “Come on,” Venja told him, offering his gloved hand. And the boy looked down at him, and the mud—and wrinkled his beautiful little nose in distaste.

            In an instant all Venja’s feelings of reconciliation vanished in a fresh haze of anger. He reached up and grabbed the boy’s arm, yanking him roughly off the horse. Olivine yelped and tumbled into a mud puddle, and the groom quickly led the horse away to shelter. “Get up! Get inside!” Venja snarled, dragging and pushing the stumbling youth towards the door. If the little brat still had his defiant, spoiled attitude, he obviously hadn’t suffered _that_ much.

            Xiao-Xing was curled on a wooden bench by the fire in the tavern’s main room, enjoying Almandine’s warmth on the outside and the hot buttered rum’s on the inside—though she had an idea about switching the two around—when the door burst open and the soaked, muddy figure of Olivine scrabbled through it. On his heels was Venja, whose expression was as dark as any she had ever seen. Olivine crawled about his master’s feet, afraid to fall behind but unsure of where they were going, until Venja threw himself down in the bench opposite Xiao-Xing, dripping everywhere. Olivine curled up beneath the bench in a tiny sniffling ball, letting Venja’s boots rest against him so his master would know he was there.

            “Venja, darling, you look miserable!” Xiao-Xing sympathized, pushing her glass of rum across the table towards him. He swallowed it in one gulp.

            “I _hate_ traveling,” he finally ground out.

            Xiao-Xing was signaling the owner. “Have a hot bath sent up to Lord Veniamin’s room right away,” she ordered, then turned back to her friend. “Dearest, you ought to go straight up to your room, have a hot bath and some dinner, and get some sleep,” she advised. “We have three more days of coach travel before we switch to the autos.”

            Venja sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the bench. Coach travel, for three monotonous days, was not something he looked forward to. “I’ve never ridden a horse that fast before,” he commented idly. “I’m sure he didn’t know what to think.” He felt a movement at his feet and saw the boy trying to scoot closer to the fire. Venja didn’t _quite_ kick him, but he made it clear he was _not_ to move.

            Xiao-Xing tried to ignore it. “The messenger met you?”

            “Yes, thank you for that,” Venja told her belatedly. “I had to wake him up, but...”

            Another movement under the table made his features twist in sudden anger. When he saw that it was Almandine surreptitiously trying to slip his own boy some bread, only the strong social more against touching someone else’s slave stayed his hand long enough for Xiao-Xing to yank Almandine back and order him to get her another drink.

            “Where did you find him?” she finally asked, leaning across the table.

            “I don’t know where the little creature was hiding,” Venja replied in a nasty tone, “but I found him in the kitchen when he finally snuck down to steal some food.”

            Almandine wisely returned with two drinks, and Venja tossed his back again. “I suppose he’s hungry,” Xiao-Xing ventured mildly.

            “If he’s hungry,” Venja spat, his reply directed entirely towards the shaking boy beneath his seat, “he should eat like a civilized human being, and not sneak about in the dark stealing food, like a rat.”

            “Milord,” the tavern owner said respectfully, leaning in, “your hot bath is ready and waiting upstairs.”

            “Good,” Venja replied, jumping to his feet. He dropped a few coins on the table, to pay for his drinks, and Xiao-Xing didn’t bother to insist it wasn’t necessary. “I will take your advice, Madame, and wish you good night.” He paused a moment, to see if Olivine would move from his hiding place—and when he didn’t, Venja kicked the bench over, exposing the boy. The crack of wood hitting the stone floor resounded in the small room, and any patron who might have been tempted to curry favor with the important guests swiftly changed their minds about approaching them. “Get up!” Venja ordered in a blistering tone, but Olivine was already scrambling over the furniture as fast as he could. “Upstairs!”

            Xiao-Xing winced as she saw her normally calm and collected friend shove his beautiful boy, usually so doted upon, up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms. She couldn’t imagine Venja actually beating the boy, no matter how angry, but Olivine would spend the night cold and hungry on the floor—unless he could find a way to placate his master, that is.

**

            Venja barely registered the amenities of the room as he stormed in and slammed the door behind him. Olivine scrambled into an out-of-the-way corner, watching him with wide, wet eyes. Venja was not a temperamental man, normally, but that little creature with the face of an angel _did_ seem to bring out the worst in him sometimes. He shrugged his coat off into a puddle on the floor and kicked away his muddy boots. He yanked his wet clothes off almost violently, leaving a trail behind himself as he headed for the steaming bath before the fire. Venja eased gratefully into the almost-too-hot water and leaned back with a sigh, suddenly exhausted.

            After a moment he heard the boy rustling about on the other side of the screen, doing his duty of picking up his master’s clothes and cleaning up his mess. Silently he slid around the screen and hung the damp clothes up before the fire to dry, then slunk back into his corner to scrub at the muddy boots that had so recently almost kicked him. After a few moments there was a knock at the door and the boy took a plate of food from the servant girl—no doubt sent up by Xiao-Xing.

            “Put it on the table,” Venja told him, and that was all he said.

            When the older man was about to fall asleep in the tub he decided it was time to get out. He found himself unable to eat more than a few bites of bread, despite the fact that he’d had no food all day, and eventually he just gave up and crawled into bed. The boy quickly blew out most of the candles and Venja tried to settle into sleep.

            But his mind was restless. After about ten minutes he heard a soft splashing and surmised the boy was availing himself of the bathwater—which was now cold—before throwing it out. A good thing, too, since he apparently hadn’t managed to bathe during the three days he was hiding from them all. Not long after that was a muffled chewing, and Venja supposed he really should yell at the boy for eating his food without permission, but frankly he didn’t have the energy for it anymore.

            The little imp could be quite poorly behaved sometimes—Venja had only to think of his destroyed studio to remember _that_ —but for all that he wasn’t bad at heart. He was just confused and scared sometimes, and angry—whatever kept his voice locked inside his throat also drove him to moods that Venja didn’t think he’d ever understand.

            Finally the last candle went out and the boy settled down on the floor before the fire. Yet Venja still couldn’t sleep, and neither could Olivine, apparently—the sounds of fresh tears, though subdued, were obvious.

            Just when Venja thought it was going to drive him crazy, he heard a quiet scraping and realized Olivine was creeping closer. He stopped expectantly beside the bed, sniffling and Venja sighed heavily before he finally gave in and opened his eyes.

            The boy knelt on the hard wooden floor, wearing just the sleeping trousers he’d dug out of the luggage, his thin shoulders shaking, auburn head bowed submissively. His hair caught a flicker of firelight and Venja saw his own arm raise, almost of its own accord, to brush a silky damp strand back behind the boy’s ear.

            As soon as Venja touched him the boy raised his olive-green eyes, red-rimmed and glistening with tears. “Olivine,” Venja breathed wearily, running his fingers under his chin, “what am I going to do about you?” His eyes barely blinked; he was hardly apologetic, Venja knew—just desperate to be back in the good graces of his master. The older man pushed himself up on one elbow, the better to stare down at the boy who followed his every movement with intense interest.

            “Do you know how worried I was about you?” Venja continued, and the boy had enough sense to look a bit ashamed of himself. “You _cannot_ go off and hide like that. Even Almandine couldn’t find you.” He gripped the boy’s chin firmly to wipe out the glimmer of smugness on his face. “If you keep doing that in America, I _will_ lock you up. Do you understand?” Olivine nodded, reluctantly. Venja let him go and laid back down. “Good. Now go to sleep.”

            He closed his eyes, but the boy didn’t move. “Olivine,” he warned. He finally snapped his eyes back open when he heard the sob choked back. Hesitantly the boy reached out and brushed Venja’s hand, tears overflowing his eyes, and the older man couldn’t deny him any longer. “Alright, come on,” he sighed, scooting over a bit.

            Olivine practically leaped under the covers, snuggling up close to him and squirming in all the wrong places. He began to nuzzle Venja’s neck hungrily, his slender fingers dancing over his body. Venja wrapped his arm around him in an effort to still him. “Olivine,” he insisted, “go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow—“

            Olive-green eyes full of hurt looked up at him, as if to accuse him of this one final rejection on top of everything else. Then he dove for the throat again, the most sensitive spot below his ear, and his hands slid smoothly down Venja’s belly towards the one thing he was trying _not_ to think with right now. “Olivine—“ he began again, but the boy did feel so good in his arms, and it _had_ been three days since he’d felt him there last. One bite of the earlobe and he was lost for good. He supposed they could always sleep in the coach tomorrow.


End file.
